by Robert Thier
Further description of what the poor, unsuspecting bodyguard intended to do with his employer’s little sister was cut off by one of Mr Ambrose’s trademark arctic stares.
‘Not now, Karim.’
‘But Sahib, the insult to my honour-’
‘-will still be just as insulting in an hour or two. There is not time right now. Dalgliesh is here.’
Karim had just been about to open his mouth to protest again - but at hearing that, he shut up. His hand shot to the sabre at his belt, and his eyes turned into slits. I had a feeling that whatever he had planned for the inventor of Prince Fragrant Yellow Flower in the Happy Moonlight, it was nothing compared to what he’d like to do to Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh.
We didn’t enter the house through the usual back door. With as many as there were of us, it would have taken ages for us to file inside. Mr Ambrose unlocked the French windows on the terrace, and his small private army marched into the beautiful drawing room, sticking out like a forest of sore thumbs.
‘Where exactly did you get those keys?’ I enquired. ‘Did your father give them to you?’
His face was a mask. ‘I like to be prepared for every eventuality.’
‘Dear me! Copying your own relative’s keys? I’m shocked!’
And I was. Shocked that I hadn’t thought of the idea first. Once I got home, I would have to see how I could get my hands on Aunt Brank’s key ring. That could come in handy.
We moved through the house at a swift pace, our circle of guards never loosening or falling behind. Just as we stepped into the entrance hall, a door at the other side of the hall opened and Adaira, accompanied by her mother and a few curious guests, stepped out to meet us.
‘Ah, Rick! There you are.’ Lady Samantha looked very relieved. ‘Have you heard?’
‘Yes.’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was cold enough to freeze a desert at noon. ‘One of our guests has seen fit to return.’
‘Indeed.’ Lady Samantha glanced away. ‘I will be welcoming him. Will you come with me?’
‘Yes.’ His gaze slid over to Adaira. ‘But she won’t.’
His little sister’s spine stiffened as if strapped to a posing stand.[18]
‘I won’t stay behind! I’m not a child, and I won’t be treated as though-’
A normal older brother might have taken this opportunity to point out that yes, she was indeed a child, which would lead to further denial and an eventual row that would rock the walls of the house. Mr Ambrose just snapped his fingers, and a contingent of his guards formed a line in front of Adaira, keeping her from going anywhere unless she wanted to ram head first into her brother’s hirelings.
‘I’m going to get you for this!’ came a determined, if muffled, voice from behind a wall of muscle. ‘Just you wait!’
Ignoring his little sister completely, Mr Ambrose turned towards the front doors and started forward. I followed suit, nearly running to keep pace with his long strides. Out of the corner of his sea-coloured eyes, he glanced down at me.
‘I suppose I can’t talk you out of accompanying me?’
‘No.’
‘And if I order my men to keep you here, along with my sister?’
‘Then I will find a way to let Her Majesty’s Treasury know about some of your more creative bookkeeping methods.’
He made a not-very-polite noise in the back of his throat. I smiled up at him broadly. ‘Either you let me go with you, or you’re not going at all. It’s your choice.
Another indistinct noise. Then…
‘All right, Miss Linton. Let’s go. Karim?’
‘The men are ready, Sahib. Nothing will happen.’
‘That had better be true.’
We stepped outside onto the porch just in time to see a magnificent coach drawn by four beautiful white horses rolling down the driveway. It was accompanied by a small cavalcade of horsemen, dressed in luxurious livery. The whole scene screamed ‘fairytale prince’ - until the coach rolled to a halt, the door opened, and Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh stepped out. The servants dismounted. Under their tailcoats, I saw the brief glint of sabres and pistols.
Karim gave a discreet hand signal. Without any of the guests or Lady Samantha noticing, Mr Ambrose’s guards moved closer, placing themselves halfway between us and His Lordship.
With long, leisurely strides, Lord Dalgliesh crossed the snow-covered ground between us. He was smiling and didn’t even seem to notice the tension in the air - unless you took a good look deep into his eyes. They coldly assessed the situation, sweeping over Mr Ambrose and his mother, me and Karim as if we were just pawns on a chessboard. His gaze lingered for a second on me, and I could feel Mr Ambrose stiffen at my side - then it continued on, to take in the many men in badly fitting livery that were scattered all around us, watching the scene with emotionless professionalism.
‘My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen.’ Lord Dalgliesh bowed, his eyes never dipping a millimetre, staying focused on Mr Ambrose and his men. ‘I am delighted to see you all again. My sincerest apologies, Marchioness, for my delay in returning to your lovely home.’
‘Your apology is accepted.’ Lady Samantha nodded graciously. ‘However, may I ask why you left in the first place? Your departure was rather sudden and unexpected.’
‘I’m truly sorry.’ His eyes flicked to me for just an instant. ‘I had some business to take care of.’
‘I see. Well, I am…” Lady Samantha searched for the right word - but she didn’t find one, so she went with a wrong one. “…glad that you could rejoin us for Christmas. The great ball is this evening, and some of us were beginning to fear you would miss it.’
Again, Dalgliesh’s steel-blue eyes flickered to me, boring into me like diamond drills - then they swept to my left and right, where there stood at least a dozen men, their hands casually hidden under their jackets, no doubt holding deadly weapons. They didn’t take their eyes off His Lordship for one moment.
‘I am afraid I must disappoint you in that regard, Your Ladyship.’
‘You must?’ Lady Samantha had never sounded so happy to be disappointed.
‘Yes. The business I was speaking of…’ Once more, he speared me with his gaze. I ignored him. ‘It did not go entirely as expected. There are unforeseen difficulties. I will have to return to London, to develop a new strategy.’ He smiled, and it was deadly smile, meant solely for me and Mr Ambrose. ‘What is it they say? Patience is a virtue.’
To me, it didn’t sound like a virtue just then. It sounded very much like a threat.
‘Well…’ Lady Samantha cleared her throat. ‘I wish you the best of luck with your business, Your Lordship.’
Thanks so much. I appreciate you wanting me to get kidnapped by a psychopath, Your Ladyship.
‘Thank you.’ Lord Dalgliesh made a deep bow, a smile twisting one corner of his mouth. ‘You don’t know how much that means to me. I so very much look forward to being a guest in your beautiful home again at some point in the future. I will do everything in my power to ensure that day comes soon.’
With those words hanging darkly and ominously in the air, he turned around and strode back to his coach. One of his henchmen opened the door for him. He climbed in. The coachman cracked his whip. Just as I was about to relax, Lord Dalgliesh leaned out of the window, catching my eye. Almost imperceptibly, he lowered his head in a mocking little bow. The gesture needed no translation.
Till next time.
As he withdrew and the coach rolled away down the driveway, I couldn’t suppress an involuntary shudder.
*~*~**~*~*
Sighing, I closed the door of my room behind me and leaned against it. He was gone! Finally, he was out of sight and out of mind!
All right, it wasn’t over yet, not by a long shot. Dalgliesh would be planning his next grand move at some time in the future, now that he knew I was Mr Ambrose’s weak spot. I would have to be prepared. Still, for now at least, I would have a little peace.
Not that Mr Rikkard Ambrose took so cheerful a v
iew of things.
‘The guards are staying,’ he’d told me in an undertone while we were watching His Lordship’s carriage drive away. ‘This might be a ploy to lull us into a false sense of security.’
I had tried to argue with him a little bit, just for the fun of it - but in truth, I could have sung with joy! The guards were staying? Did this mean that he still cared, even after I’d turned him down? Did it?
Or was it just that he didn’t want to lose to Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh?
Right now, I couldn’t find the energy to care! Lord Dalgliesh was gone, and Mr Ambrose wasn’t going anywhere. I would have plenty of time to figure out what was going on between the two of us. With a tired sigh, I tottered over to the bed and sank down on it. Time for a little break. After all, there was no hurry. Most of my problems were over, and the ones that weren’t could wait for a little while, right?
Wrong.
In that exact instant, the door burst open and a dervish danced into the room. A dervish that looked suspiciously like Lady Adaira Louise Jannet Melanie Georgette Ambrose. She made a last whirl and then came to a stop in front of my bed, beaming down at me.
‘Isn’t this just fantabulous? Dalgliesh is gone! Really, absolutely one hundred per cent gone! And Mother has given me carte blanche! Oh, we’re going to have so much fun!’
‘Fun?’ I blinked up at her. ‘Fun with what?’
‘With finding the right dress for you to wear! After all, you want to look your best for the ball tonight, don’t you? For the ball, and…’ She winked. She winked! ‘…and for my brother?’
Oh blast!
Groaning, I sank back onto my pillow. My problems weren’t over. They were just beginning.
Insignificant Other
‘Crap, crap, crap!’
‘Miss! I must protest! Your language…!’
‘Oh, pardon. I meant horse dung, of course. Or do you prefer faeces?’
The sputtering shop assistant bustled away to bury her scolded ears in folds of muslin. Behind me, Adaira disguised her giggle as a cough.
‘You do have a rather colourful way of expressing yourself.’
‘Well, colourful is good, isn’t it?’ I held up the brilliant orange ball gown against my front. ‘What do you think?’
‘Um…I think maybe not in this case. Try that one.’
I glanced around, and was nearly blinded. Adaira was holding up a brilliantly gleaming dress that was, from neckline to hem, a shiny golden colour.
She grinned at me. ‘I bet he won’t be able to take his eyes off you in this.’
I returned her smile with one eyebrow raised. ‘I see you know your brother well.’
‘Indeed I do. So, what about it? Are you going to try it on?’
‘Hmm…thanks, but I think I’ll politely decline. I don’t really wish to spend the entire evening with him fiddling around on an abacus, trying to figure out how much my dress is worth.’
‘But you do want to spend it with him.’
I glanced down, biting my lip. Usually, I was a pretty plucky girl. I didn’t easily get afraid. But when it came to answering questions like this one…
‘Yes.’ The word was hardly more than a whisper. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Hm.’ Adaira tapped her chin. ‘So…you want to spend time with him. You want to be with him. But you don’t want to marry him.’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s a pretty tough conundrum.’
‘Yes.’
‘Especially considering the fact that my brother, for some mysterious reason, is the most eligible bachelor in the entire British Empire and there are droves of unmarried young women hunting him wherever he appears.’
‘Yes.’
‘It probably won’t be long before one of them gets their claws into him, and she’ll give him compliments, and money, and will do anything in her power to-”
‘Adaira?’
‘Yes?’
‘Shut up and get the next dress!’
‘Yes, Ma’am!’
We continued to rifle through racks of ready-made dresses, balls of cloth and other finery. It felt extremely strange. All my life I had been on the outside looking in, wondering why other girls put so much effort into dressing up and looking pretty. Now I was on a desperate quest to do exactly the same. And why? To catch the attention of a man, in the hope that he might perhaps maybe perchance possibly if I was very, very lucky dance with me.
How the mighty have fallen.
Fallen indeed.
Fallen in love.
It was a terrifying feeling, and even more terrifying was to acknowledge it. I wanted - no, needed - Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Needed him with a bone-deep intensity that surpassed even my love for solid chocolate. But I had rejected him. He was not the sort of man to take that lightly. What if, with him, it was everything or nothing? What if, now that I had refused his offer, he no longer wanted me? It was a scary thought. But even scarier: what if he still did?
What if he asked me to dance tonight? What would I tell him? What could I possibly say? Hello there! I’m sorry I don’t want to marry you, but would you like to just live in sin with me instead, because I’m head-over-heels in love with you, you stone-faced son of a bachelor?
Already tried that. It hadn’t worked out so well.
So…what else could I say?
Baby steps, Lilly. Baby steps. After turning a man down like a ton of bricks, he most likely isn’t inclined towards a passionate affair. First get him to dance with you. That is, if you can get him to unclench his teeth. Then worry about what to say to him.
All right.
Get him to dance with me. Get him to dance with me. Get him to dance with me. The words repeated over and over in my head, but I still had no clue how to do it.
I needed to attract his attention somehow. I needed just the right dress, the right make-up, and, most of all, the right style. I needed to become so stunningly beautiful that he couldn’t possibly resist me. But…how?
You need help organising a demonstration for women’s rights? I’m your girl! You need someone for a bit of target shooting? Great, I’m in! But dressing up? As a female?
Where did you even begin?
‘Adaira, please!’
Desperately, I stared at the endless racks of clothes stretching in front of me. ‘What am I supposed to do? What could I possibly wear that would attract his attention?’
‘Well…’ Turning in a circle, she gave the clothes all around a thoughtful look. ‘You could always ask the tailor if he could stitch you a dress made from five-pound notes.’
‘Adaira! This is serious!’
‘I know. And I know my brother. If you want him to be unable to take his eyes from you, and to tear your dress off the moment the two of you are alone, that’s the way to go.’
‘I want him to tear my dress off because he wants me, not because he wants the dress!’
‘Oh.’ She clucked her tongue. ‘Well, that’s a little more tricky.’
‘Serious suggestions. Please.’
There must have been something in my tone. Or maybe Adaira just knew exactly how I felt about her brother, because she instantly stopped teasing and started searching. She hadn’t been joking when she said her mother had given her carte blanche. Without hesitation, she went through the most expensive dresses in the shop, everything from the latest London creations to rare and insanely expensive imports from Paris. Apparently, Lady Samantha had a quite definite preference as to which among her lady guests she would like to see as her daughter-in-law. Poor dear. I just didn’t have the heart to tell her that I had turned him down already. Oh, and there was the little fact that I really, really didn’t have enough money to pay for a ball gown, myself.
It would be rude to turn down her generosity, right?
But I wouldn’t overdo it. Unless I really were to appear in a dress stitched from banknotes that he would get to keep, Mr Ambrose wouldn’t be impressed by expensive fashion anyway. I needed something simple and eleg
ant. Something that screamed ‘I’m classy and cheap!’ (the latter in the literal sense). I needed something perfect just for him.
But what kind of dress could that possibly be?
‘Lilly!’
‘Yes?’
Pulling my eyes from the décolletage of a dark red dress (much too generous for me, thank you), I turned to see Adaira emerging from a rack that featured fine, yet simply-cut dresses in interesting colours. She turned to face me and, smiling the devious smile I was starting to love, held up a dress into the light.
‘What do you think of this?’
I stared - then I started smiling, too. ‘Adaira, you are a genius!’
*~*~**~*~*
All was set. My clothes were bought. My secret weapons were sharpened and polished. My emergency stash of solid chocolate concealed in a hidden pocket. There was only one thing left for me to do: go completely and utterly barmy.
Ishegoingtoaskme? Ishegoingtoaskme? Blastblastblast! Ishegoingtoaskme?
The words hammered against my skull from the inside, needing to get out. I stalked through the halls of Battlewood, unable to sit down or even stand still, and every time I caught a glimpse of him, I wanted to grab him by the collar and demand: ‘Well? Well, you bloody son of a bachelor? Are you going to ask me to dance with you? Are you? Do you still care?’
But I didn’t.
Because, for one, that would be utterly undignified. And for another, he would bloody well have to ask me! I wasn’t going to ask him whether he was going to ask me, no Sir!
But…
But…
But what if he was going to ask someone else?
The hyenas were everywhere. They were prowling the halls of Battlewood, stalking every single one of Mr Ambrose’s steps, just waiting to pounce on him.
Okay, maybe I had taken the metaphor a little bit far. But you get my meaning. Every single one of them acted as if she were the only one Mr Ambrose could possibly choose, as if she had a special right to him that no one had better doubt. Snide comments flew through the corridors like flies in the summer. Eyes were suddenly filled with greed and hatred, tongues were coated with poison. Over the course of the day, nearly half a dozen incidents occurred that, had the participants been men, would have ended in deadly duels. Everyone hated and mistrusted everyone else. There was only one thing that all of them agreed on, one thing united them all: their hatred and mistrust of me.
